


Spider-Man and Deadpool Talk to the Avengers (It Goes About How You'd Expect)

by AGlassRoseNeverFades



Series: The Adventures of Autistic Spidey and Schizophrenic Wade (Who Fall in Love and Do Other Fun Stuff) [3]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Autistic Peter, But No One Knows How to Ask For One, But Peter and Tony Definitely Need to Sort Some Things Out, But feel free to ignore that if you don't like the ship lol, But it gets better I promise, Could be some Natasha/Bruce if you squint, Everyone Deserves Hugs, Finally, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, Gen, M/M, NO superfamily, Okay maybe more than just a smidge, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter is Such a Cutie Experiencing His First Love and No One Knows How to Handle It, Pining, Probably Least of All Wade tbh, Schizophrenic Wade, Stress Baking, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, golden girls - Freeform, just a smidge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2018-10-20 20:58:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10670637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGlassRoseNeverFades/pseuds/AGlassRoseNeverFades
Summary: The Avengers find out who Spider-Man has been spending his time with for the past few months and decide to have a chat with him about it. It doesn't go too well. (Shocking, I know.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The original draft of this is alternately titled "Tony Finds Out."
> 
> Takes place shortly after "Tag and Snuggles" in Spider-Man and Deadpool Do Nonnie Prompts. Wade is working a contract and sadly absent from the first chapter, but he'll be back in the next! ^_^

_\- To everyone who’s in town, meeting at Tower ASAP. As in, get here yesterday._

Peter stares down at the screen on his Stark phone uncertainly, wondering if his name was included on the recipients list by mistake. The Avengers don’t usually include him on their group texts except in real emergencies, and he’s neither heard anything on the news nor sensed anything while out on his patrols to indicate that this is the case. Just as he’s awkwardly about to privately message Tony back to ask, however, another text from the billionaire comes in on the group thread.

_\- Yes that includes you, underoos. Drop what you’re doing and remember, YESTERDAY_

Peter huffs an irritated noise through both his nose and mouth. It’s bad enough that Iron Man still treats him like a kid; he would appreciate the man at least not doing it in front of the other Avengers so often. Another ping.

_\- I know you’re not that busy. I got your read receipts faster than everyone else’s._

Now the younger man scowls his annoyance. He could be busy and still read texts, dammit! Well...actually no, probably not, Peter can’t shift his attention back and forth between different tasks that easily. For him, getting involved in a text conversation might as well take the same amount of effort and laser focus as trying to type a novel on his phone, with the same amount of frustration and tedium that would go into such an enormous feat as well. Too much reading and re-reading and _proof-_ reading and second-guessing goes into whether he should send back _‘lol xD’_ or _‘lol :)’_ or _‘LOL!’_ or _‘Haha, you made a joke and I am acknowledging the joke with a lol even though I did not, in fact, laugh out loud or even quietly to myself because it was only mildly funny to me at best. I’m happy that you’re having fun and amusing yourself though and that’s all that matters, Aunt May. :)’_ Still, there’s no reason for Stark to call him out on it like that!

Halfway hoping there might be a mugging or two to slow him down on the way, if only so Stark will have to wait that much longer to be graced with his awesome presence, Spider-Man swings his way across town to Avengers Tower and hopes that whatever this is about will be done with quickly.

*

“Hello, Spider-Man,” says a feminine, disembodied voice as Peter gets onto the elevator.

“Hey, Friday,” he answers back. “Which floor is Tony on?”

“Mr. Stark is in the situation room with Dr. Banner, Mr. Barton, Mr. Rogers, Ms. Romanov, and Mr. Odinson.” Peter grimaces unseen underneath his mask. That’s most of the original core group all in one room. Maybe he shouldn’t have dawdled so long in getting here. “Shall I announce your presence?”

“No, _please_ don’t,” he says and doesn’t care if it sounds like he’s begging. He’d much rather sneak in the back and hope he can get away with pretending like he’s been there all along. ( _Yep, super mature, Parker._ Shut up, brain.)

The AI is quiet the rest of the ride up, silently opening the elevator doors for him as they reach his stop. Automatically, Peter jumps up onto the ceiling so he can crawl stealthily over to the next room where he can already make out their voices. So what if it makes him a bit of a creeper; he can’t stand it when people stop what they’re doing to turn and look at the latecomer, even if it’s just to say hi or something, and he _really_ can’t stand it when it feels like he’s interrupting something important just by showing up.

“This is ridiculous,” he hears Natasha say first, followed by the sound of her booted heels clicking on the floor.

“Hey, don’t walk out!” That would be Tony’s voice. “I need you all here. United front, remember?” They sound irritated, he thinks (with each other most likely, because what else is new) but not tense the way he would expect them to be if this were really a situation that required, well, the _situation room._ Strange. Cautiously, he makes his way inside, sticking to what few shadows the room provides for him to remain unseen for the moment.

“This is not going to go down the way you want it to, Tony, and I’m with Nat,” says Bruce, arms crossed over his chest, but _probably_ not shifting close to anger anytime soon since no one else in the room is giving him the cautious side-eye. When in doubt about someone’s body language, Peter does his best to take his cues from the reactions of everybody else, though sometimes this comes with mixed results. “How exactly is ganging up on him supposed to make us a united front?”

“It’s called an intervention, people.” Tony sounds exasperated. They must have been talking for a while, though in Tony Stark terms that could easily amount to just a few minutes if he hasn’t been getting his way. “All of us gather around in a big powwow circle and say, _‘Look, sweetheart, we’re here and we want what’s best for you, now it’s time to admit you need help and say goodbye to the murderous psychopath.’_ Seriously, what’s hard to understand here, guys?”

Uh, _plenty,_ Peter thinks. Does someone in the gang have a drug problem? He’s pretty sure he’s never heard that kind of euphemism for one before, but Tony likes to make up his own weird sayings for stuff all the time, which can get pretty confusing if you’re like Peter and have to study and memorize idioms like you’re cramming for a vocabulary test every time you hear a new one _—now spell it, define it, use it in a sentence—_ to have any hope of following along when it comes up again in future conversations.

“Tony’s right. We have a responsibility to look out for our own, especially when they won’t look out for themselves,” says Steve Rogers, dressed down in a T-shirt and jeans instead of his Captain America uniform like Peter’s used to seeing him. It’s weird seeing any of them except for Tony and Bruce in their civilian wear honestly; it’s not like he spends a lot of time around the other heroes in their day-to-day lives.

“See? Cap’s on board with it!” Tony points out as if that settles the matter.

“He would be,” Clint mutters, not bothering to look up from the game of checkers set out between him and Thor. “You two act like the Mama and Papa Hens of the roost.”

“Oh yeah, which one of us is the mom?” Tony asks. Clint levels him with a look as if the answer should be obvious, while Steve merely sighs at the minor derailment.

“Aha! _King me!”_ announces Thor as he proudly slams a piece down on the board hard enough to rattle some of the others in place. Clint curses and settles one of his opponent’s captured tokens on top of the one that successfully made it to his side of the board.

The bearded blond looks up while Hawkeye deliberates his next move, his face splitting into an impossibly wider grin still when he spots Peter on the ceiling. “Hail there, Man of Spiders! We were just talking of you, my friend.” Wait, _they were?_ Since when?

Nearly everyone else startles and looks up at Peter as well, which is exactly the sort of attention he’d been trying to avoid. Even Black Widow and Hulk cease their quietly whispered chat which Peter had politely been tuning out in favor of listening to everybody else.

“There you are!” says Tony impatiently. “Get down here, shortstop, we need to have a little talk.”

“I don’t think you know what a shortstop is,” Peter states dryly. “Hint—it has nothing to do with height, which I’m eighty percent sure is what you’re referencing here. Do you even baseball, bro?”

“Spider-Man. _Get down,”_ Tony repeats, his voice more clipped and weirdly paternal. For a minute, Spidey thinks about disobeying just to remind the older man that he doesn’t work for him and isn’t one of his Avengers, but that won’t do him any favors if he ever wants to be taken seriously by these people as an adult.

He unsticks from the ceiling and lands on the floor in front of Tony, making sure to do a couple of flips on the way down because he can. Just because he wants to be taken seriously doesn’t mean he needs to stop _having fun._

He bows for the whooping and cheering coming from the checkers corner of the room, then again for the other side even though all he’s met with there are smirks and shaking heads. Tony stands there in front and only rolls his eyes, barely waiting for Peter’s focus to be back on him before getting started on his spiel, while somewhere behind them near the sofa, the captain looks on with an expression of faint concern.

“Spidey, what the hell is all of this?” Iron Man asks, and without looking presses a button in his hand that lights up the gigantic screen on the far wall behind him with loads of images and news clips. There are low quality photos of him and Wade together from their last big team-up while the Avengers were gone and...wait a minute, is that one of his and Wade’s YouTube videos? Peter gapes a bit, struck dumb by the bizarreness of this entire situation.

“I seem to recall us telling you one particular thing about Deadpool, ah, what was it again?” Stark asks rhetorically, snapping his fingers by his own head as though trying to spark a memory. “Oh yeah, it was, _stay away from him._ This,” he gestures widely to the screen behind him, “is practically as close to the _opposite_ of following that advice as it gets.”

“Deadpool is unstable and dangerous, son,” Steve says in that gentle, soft-spoken way of his. “Now, I can understand why you would want to give him a chance in spite of that and try to guide him on the right path. It’s one of your most admirable qualities,” he adds with a smile that has Peter tilting his head away from him, embarrassed. “But I’m afraid in this case, you’ll only be setting yourself up for disappointment and possibly something far worse.”

“Also, not to jump off topic here, but this has really been bugging me for a while. Is _that_ you and him alone _in his house?”_ Tony interjects once more, jabbing sharply in the air at the YouTube video which immediately starts playing. It is their very first Let’s Play together from late last year. Tony lets it run for a few seconds before pointing again, putting it back on pause. “And _don’t_ try to tell me those are actors under those masks. I wanted to believe that at first, but Friday did a voice analysis for me and confirmed they were matches for you both.”

Well, if _that_ isn’t the most unnerving and invasive thing Peter’s ever heard in his life, and he went to public school! (“Ba-dum- _tish!”_ goes Wade’s voice in his head. It helps, but not by much.) Peter crosses his arms defensively over his chest, certain now that he absolutely does not want to speak until he’s sure that Stark is done. If he gets too worked up now, he might not be able to use his words later when he’ll probably need them more.

He’s sure from the sour grapes expression on Tony’s face that his silence has been taken as a yes to the man’s question. The adults probably also think that he’s just being a sulky teen giving him the silent treatment, not one of them understanding that it’s because he doesn’t want to fly off the handle or get railroaded the moment he opens his mouth to defend himself. Nothing flusters him to the point of exploding or turning mute—or more likely, exploding and _then_ turning mute—faster than that.

One need not be fluent in reading a room to understand that this “little talk” is going to fall under the category of Not a Good Time when he’s rating and sorting it in its proper place with the rest of his interactions with the Avengers later. Now he knows who the intervention is for, and _maybe_ he’s jumping to conclusions here, but he’ll flap like a chicken and crow at the top of the building if there’s not an ultimatum riding shotgun alongside it as well.

“Exactly how long has this been going on, Spider-Man?” asks Black Widow, apparently not opposed enough to the whole intervention thing to actually opt out of participating. Even Dr. Banner looks on, as though he too is interested in hearing the answer.

“I’m surprised you don’t already know,” he tells them snidely.

“We didn’t even know he was in the city til we saw the footage of you guys fighting off that crazy pheromone lady last week,” Clint chimes in. “SHIELD used to keep pretty close tabs on Wilson at all times, but that’s easier said than done with a target whose entire MO is being unpredictable. Coulson decided it was a waste of resources as long as the guy wasn’t actively getting involved in major catastrophes or anything. That, and the last agent who was tailing him came back missing a few fingers.” Clint grimaces in what Peter assumes to be sympathy for the unnamed agent. “Deadpool _really_ doesn’t like it when he’s being followed.”

_Well, of course not!_ Peter wants to snap, but he holds his tongue. They might interpret a remark like that as him _approving_ of maiming SHIELD agents. Much as he would love to defend Wade’s right to privacy, it’s more important that he keep his silence lest they twist it into some kind of evidence that the older man is an insidious influence on him.

“Deadpool...is that not the fellow who once defeated a horde of Hand ninjas using only his own severed arm as a club?” asks Thor, sounding mightily impressed for someone who’s supposed to be helping his friends talk Peter _out_ of spending more time with Wade. The question gets a few queasy looks and one muttered _yes_ from a very tired-looking Bruce, to which Thor responds with, “Oh good, I like him!”

“Me too!” Peter gushes in return, and holds his arm up for a long distance air-five. Thor seems mildly confused by the gesture but answers it in kind, looking to Clint who gives a small nod and a thumbs up to let him know he got it right.

Tony sighs dramatically. “Thanks a ton, Thor.”

“You’re most welcome, Man of Iron!”

“What we’re trying to convey here,” Captain Rogers speaks up again, veering them back on course once more, “is that Deadpool is a volatile individual even trained agents and hardened warriors have trouble going toe to toe with once he starts spinning out of control.”

“Hey, don’t pull what I said into your lecture... _thing,”_ Clint protests. “That was one incident, and I only mentioned it to answer Spidey’s question.”

“Spidey didn’t ask a question,” Tony fires back.

“It was implied,” Clint defends.

“Yeah, it was,” Peter affirms for him. Clint’s refusal to be party to what Tony and Steve are trying to do gives him some hope that he and Wade might have more allies here than he realized.

“We’re getting off topic again,” says Tony. “Point is, Deadpool is bad news and you need to stop seeing him. Immediately.”

Unconsciously, Peter straightens and rolls his shoulders back to match Iron Man’s stance. “No,” he states simply.

“This is not up for debate, Spider-Man.”

“Shut up, Tony,” says Peter, keeping his tone playful as he does his impression of a bratty teen. “You’re not even my real dad!”

“And what would your real dad say if he knew his son was spending his free time around a dangerous maniac?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you dig him up and ask him?” he mutters darkly. He winces internally at the similar looks of sympathy that cross various faces throughout the room. Fuck, he hadn’t meant to give away that much about himself. Even Tony seems to lose some of his hard edge at that.

“Spidey, if...if that’s what this is about,” Tony says, for once seeming a little unsure of himself, “there _are_ better places to go looking for a mentor.”

Spider-Man’s abrupt laughter is loud, whip-sharp, and startling even to himself. He doesn’t know where it comes from, but it’s ugly, not at all like the dorky giggles at his own stupid quips they’re all used to hearing and that Wade likes to recite ridiculous odes to almost as much as his butt. Something shifts in Tony’s expression that looks almost like _hurt,_ but Peter assumes he’s lost all ability to judge emotions correctly by this point since there’s no reason he can think of for Tony to feel that way that makes any sense.

“You think that’s what... _oh my god,”_ Peter manages once he gets a better hold of himself, hiding his already masked face behind his hand in something akin to mortification. “No, no, no. Jesus, just... _no._ Let me explain something to you.” He straightens again and looks Iron Man more or less in the eye. One benefit to his mask is that this is much easier to fake than without it, and also more effective as a barrier than using the rims of his now-otherwise-useless glasses so others _can’t_ make steady eye contact with him at school or work.

“Wade Wilson is not, and has never been, my mentor,” Peter tells them matter-of-factly. “Nor am I his,” he adds, turning his head to face Steve. “Neither of us needs a babysitter. I hang out with him because _I like him._ That’s it. I don’t need a better reason than that.” He crosses his arms over his chest again. “I also don’t need a better reason to deny your request that I stop.”

“And if I tell you that it’s not a request, Spider-Man?” Tony suggests, his tone as carefully neutral as Peter’s ever heard it.

“Let me guess, ‘It’s us or him’?” Peter asks without inflection.

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose it is,” the other man answers. A few of the Avengers make surprised, even protesting, noises at that, but Tony speaks up over all of them. “We cannot offer or accept aid from you in any missions or investigations as long as you’re still hanging out with that psycho. I don’t trust him, underoos, and neither should you.” It’s an additional slap in the face, using that silly nickname Peter doesn’t even _like_ while he tells Peter that this is basically the end of their association unless he gives up Wade.

“Well,” Peter says after a moment, quietly to try to keep his voice from shaking. “Thanks for making this easy,” he finishes, and spins around on his heel to leave the room quickly.

_“Spider-Man!”_ he hears a voice call after him—Steve’s, he thinks?—but it doesn’t matter. He keeps walking, heading for one of the large window panes which Friday accommodatingly opens for him so he doesn’t have to take the elevator back down.

He misses Wade more than ever, willing the days to move faster so the man’s contract can end and he can come _home._

At least he won’t have to make any Peter Pan impressions on top of the Avengers building anytime soon now, he thinks as he swings away.

*

Bruce clears his throat softly. “I’m not going to say I told you so, but—” Nat’s hand on his arm stops him from continuing.

He realizes why when he looks up and sees Tony, standing rigidly and still staring at the same spot where Spider-Man had just been. The others awkwardly clear their throats and make a point of _not_ looking at him, as if ignoring what just happened will make the situation better.

Steve comes back, shaking his head when the others look up at him expectantly. Disappointment flickers briefly, but honestly it was to be expected.

“Tony...” Natasha says, almost cautious as she addresses the man who still has not moved from the same spot.

Hearing his own name appears to shake him loose from it at the very least. “Right,” he says abruptly. “If anyone needs me, I’ll be in the lab,” he tells no one in particular, then walks out of the room almost as hurriedly as Spider-Man had. No one stops him.

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, so apparently it turns out I may have lied. Twice. Once a long, long time ago when I said that I couldn't really see Marisa Tomei as Aunt May (I can't picture anyone _but_ her now, not entirely sure when that switch over happened), and again more recently...when I told you Wade would be back this chapter. *dodges a pelting of rotten tomatoes* I know, I know, I'm sorry! Please forgive me! Next chapter for sure, I pinky promise!!!  <3

“You’re antsy today, sweetheart.”

“Huh?” Peter glances up briefly to see his aunt giving him a look over the butterscotch pie still cooling on the counter—his aunt’s favorite, though he’s not really a fan—but ducks his head again quickly and returns his focus to the cream cheese batter he’s whisking up by hand. He always prefers using his hands over a mixer when he can, and it’s not as if a simple task like that can tire out his arms when he has super strength, though May does like to go on at length about how much it tires her just to watch him while she munches on one of the fruits—or rather, in this case, double chocolate chip cookies—of his labors.

“You never bake this much except when you’re anxious or stressed out about something.”

“How would you know? You have no idea what my fridge looks like at home.” It’s true enough anyway that he has been baking again more since he started looking the other way while Wade slips him grocery money, though he can admit that it’s usually something more like once a week or every other week and not _three_ separate desserts in one evening.

“That’s probably the one good thing about you moving out,” Aunt May admits. “Less chance of me getting fat.”

“You’re not fat, Aunt May.”

“I think I gained about fifteen pounds that night you came home from school with a B on your biology report.”

“It was B+ work at least! Mrs. Harper just had it out for me cos of that _one time_ I corrected her on the order of a peptide sequence.” Peter clears his throat and rolls his shoulders back, forcing himself to put that particular genie back in the bottle it belongs in. “Also, um, sorry about that.”

“It was a joke, sweetie,” Aunt May tells him, stepping closer up behind him so she can ruffle his hair reassuringly. He leans his head to the side, partly to escape, partly just to avoid accidentally dropping any little hairs into the cake batter. “I also rest my case.”

“What case?” he asks. Aunt May just _looks_ at him for a second while he keeps working until it eventually dawns on him. “Oh. I’m not stressed. Really.”

“Anxious then,” she says. Faster than he can retort _what’s the difference,_ she fires out a question of her own for him. “What are you making now anyway?”

“Cheesecake,” he answers promptly, pouring the batter onto the waiting graham cracker crust already sitting in its pan, wrapped and halfway submerged in its water bath inside another pan.

“Cheesecake,” Aunt May responds blandly. She has that tone that often makes her sound more like a big sister than a mom figure.

“Yeah. Can’t watch Golden Girls without cheesecake!” he informs her chirpily.

“Can’t watch Golden Girls at all if you’re spending the whole time in the kitchen.”

“This is the last one, I promise,” he says, sliding the pan into the oven and turning the timer on. “You can start without me if you want, I just need to clean up a bit first.”

“Since when do you even want to watch The Golden Girls anyway?” she asks, both hands on her hips. “Pretty sure that show ended before you were even born!”

 “Don’t mention that to Wade,” he mutters to himself as he starts on the dishes. The older man can still get a little bit squirrely about their age difference sometimes.

“What was that?” May asks loudly, reminding him just why it’s a bad idea to start talking to himself in front of his nosy aunt.

“Nothing. It’s...nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“You know you really are a terrible liar, Peter. That’s one reason at least I’ve never had to worry about what you’re up to nearly as much as other people worry about their kids.” Ha! If only she knew. “So...” she says, sidling up next to him once his arms are submerged up to the elbow in soapy water so he can’t escape, “who’s Wade?”

_“What?”_ he squawks, the metal mixing bowl slipping out of his grip to sink deeper into the water. He’s fortunate he didn’t accidentally punch the thing and break it in two.

“I’m not that old and hard of hearing yet, young man. I heard you just fine.”

“Then why’d you ask?” Seriously, he doesn’t get why people _do_ that sometimes.

“You’re getting awfully defensive about this,” she points out, breezing past his own question like she hadn’t heard it. Definitely in Big Sister mode for the moment. On a gasp, she asks, _“Is he your boyfriend?_ Did you get a boyfriend without telling me?”

“No!” Peter can’t look even in her general direction right now, his face flushed pink all the way down his neck and up the tip of his ears. “No, he’s not...we-we’re not—it’s not like that, okay?”

“Are you lying to me right now?” she asks, scrutinizing his face carefully for tells.

“I’m really not,” he says, not quite able to keep his disappointment about that fact out of his voice.

_“Ohhh,”_ she says in dawning comprehension. “Requited or not?” she asks. He doesn’t need to ask for clarification this time.

Peter shrugs. There’s no sense in hiding it now that she already has him figured out. “Maybe? I think so, but I can’t really be sure. I mean if I was...”

“It obviously wouldn’t be in question right now,” she finishes for him, nodding sagely. “Been there. I get it.”

Peter bites his lip, not knowing how else to respond. “Um, my hands are getting pruny...”

Aunt May laughs, hitting him lightly on the arm with the back of her hand. “Alright, finish up here, kiddo. I’ll get the show started.” On her way out of the kitchen, she turns around and twirls her finger at him. “We’re not done with this yet by the way.”

Peter sighs, knowing he should have expected as much. “Yes, ma’am.”

By the time he’s done— _stalling_ —cleaning up every last crumb until the kitchen is spotless, the episode is already about ten minutes in. Blanche and Dorothy are rolling their eyes dramatically over some statement that went right over Rose’s head.

Honestly, he gets that Wade is basically in love with Dorothy because of the actress who plays her, but Peter feels that he would personally get along better with Rose, if only because the two of them would understand each other better than anyone else. In fact, it’s even become sort of a running gag _and_ a secret code between them that anytime Peter loses track of a conversation or gets really confused by something, he’ll make up a quick, random non-sequitur anecdote and begin it with the phrase, “Back in Saint Olaf...”

The last time he used it though taught him that he should be a little more careful about what he makes up instead of just word salading the hell out of it in the future. Wade had _way_ too many questions about the statement, _“Back in St. Olaf, I learned how to make a ham sandwich using only my own two left feet,”_ almost as if it were actually a real story, so they never quite got back on track to the point before Peter got lost in the original conversation.

“What are you over there being all smiley about?” Aunt May asks with a curious, knowing smirk.

“It’s a funny show, Aunt May.”

“But her granddaughter’s puppy just died!”

“Wait, _really?”_ Peter asks, turning his head back to the television in horror.

“No, I’m just testing a theory that you’re not really paying attention to the show _you_ suggested we watch when you came over.”

“Oh.” Suddenly, Peter wishes he had Kitty Pryde’s powers. Sinking into the couch until no one can see his face anymore sounds pretty good right about now.

“I have another theory I’d like to test if you’d be willing to help me.”

The discontented whine Peter makes in the back of his throat can’t really be interpreted as either a yes or a no, so naturally Aunt May chooses to read it as whichever she wants to hear at the moment.

“I think this little visit out of the blue to see your dear, beloved Aunt May on your day off, appreciative of it as I am, of course, has something to do with this Wade I’m just now finding out about today. Am I right so far?”

“Mm,” Peter groans behind tightly closed lips, staring intently at the carpet right below the TV screen without looking up.

“And you’re obviously not here to talk about him, so you must be here looking for a distraction. What are you trying to distract yourself from today, baby?”

Peter groans even louder but still doesn’t say anything. He lasts for maybe about another minute before finally blurting it all out in a rush. “He gets back late tonight. He gets back and I’m here because I want to be there, at his apartment I mean, waiting for him, but I can’t because that’s creepy and you can’t just wait up at somebody’s apartment that you’re not even dating, even if you are there practically all the time anyway and technically already have a key, it’s weird. Can’t do that. It’s weird. It’s too weird. Even by our standards, it’s weird. Even by _Wade’s_ standards it’s weird, and Wade’s standards are weirder than mine. It’s just...too weird. It is weird, right?” he asks, finally looking over at his aunt to seek confirmation.

“Uh...” For once, Aunt May seems at a loss for words, something that only ever really seems to happen when Peter info-dumps on her like this unexpectedly. “Gets back?” she asks, latching onto the safest statement in that potential landmine she can grasp.

“Back in town. He’s been gone. On a business trip.” It’s not really a lie, so the phrase trips easily off his tongue. Aunt May seems to find it peculiar though if the sudden wrinkles in her forehead are anything to go by.

“A business trip, huh? Just how old is this guy?”

“Older,” Peter answers vaguely with a shrug, earnest and at ease enough now to be able to maintain steady eye contact with the wall over her shoulder.

“Uh-huh,” she says, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “How’d you guys meet?”

“Through work.” Another honest answer. Easy peasy.

“You work with him?” she asks for confirmation. Peter nods. He knows she has a very different idea about what he means, probably picturing some stuffed shirt now with an office and a desk he sits behind all day. That’s fine as long as she doesn’t ask too many questions about particulars. He’d prefer not to have to choose between telling her comfortable lies or carefully constructed truths that would nonetheless disabuse her of the notion for as long as he can.

“I see.” Her face is neutral—or, Peter’s fairly certain it is anyway. He’s not sure if that’s good or bad or just genuinely neutral yet, though with NTs it rarely ever seems to be the last. They always have to have so many _opinions_ about everything no matter how irrelevant it is to either the grander scheme or their own personal lives, Peter’s never been able to understand it.

“And does he have any kind of a supervisory position over you? Even a...periphery one, in _any_ way?”

“No,” Peter answers, unable to keep from laughing at the mere notion. “No, not at all.”

“Well, that’s something at least.” She wears a thoughtful frown now, the sort which makes Peter finally become aware that they may have been treading more dangerous ground here with this line of questioning than he realizes. He wonders if it’s the age thing. People always seem to get weirdly hung up on the age thing.

“Aunt May,” he says, unsure what he wants to tell her but aware he has to say _something_ to dispel whatever cloud has started to fog over her mind. “He’s really good to me,” he settles on simply. “Better than most people. And...he gets me.” _Better even than you,_ he almost adds but leaves off at the last second, suspecting it may be one of those ‘tactless’ things he’s not supposed to say even though it’s true and actually a good thing to find in a potential partner.

The cooking timer goes off, so Peter stands and goes back to the kitchen, removing the cheesecake from the oven so he can put it in the refrigerator to chill.

When he comes back, May is still half-turned in her seat looking in more or less the same direction, but there’s a faint smile on her face now instead of a frown. “You know, I forget sometimes that you’re actually a grown man now capable of making your own decisions,” she says. _“It’s hard,”_ she admits, looking up at Peter with a smile that now borders more on self-effacing. “I have to remind myself to butt out and let you make them, good or bad.”

He isn’t sure what he’s supposed to say here, possibly some reassurance that he knows what he’s doing, but before he can formulate his response, his phone beeps. His _work_ phone. Well, the phone that he told his aunt was his work phone when he first got it. (Again, technically not a lie.)

After what happened at his last meeting with the Avengers, he doubts it’s one of them unless it’s Tony telling him to give it back, which is unlikely since that was days ago and Tony may be an asshole, but he’s generally not the type of asshole who takes back “gifts” once they’ve been given. Which means it can really only be one other person.

Heart lodged somewhere halfway up his throat, Peter grabs the phone so fast he nearly fumbles it out of his hands. He slides the lockscreen open and reads the message waiting for him there.

“Let me guess, somebody got home early,” Aunt May says wryly. Wow, it must really be written all over his expression right now. (He’s gotta work on that poker face more.) Peter nods enthusiastically, biting down on his lip to hold back the megawatt smile that wants to take over the whole lower half of his face. It doesn’t work.

“I have to—um, I mean,” he reins himself in, looking back up at his aunt and their Golden Girls marathon still running unwatched on the screen before them. “It’s not...he was supposed to come back later, I can just—”

“Oh, shut up and go,” his aunt interrupts, waving her hand dismissively. “Me and the Golden Girls will do just fine without you. Get outta here.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, already backing up towards the kitchen even as he speaks.

“Just as long as you’re not trying to steal that cheesecake on your way out,” she warns. “It’s got hours to set anyway, you’re just gonna have to do without. That sucker’s all mine now!”

“Not taking the cheesecake or the pie,” he calls back, already back in the kitchen and rummaging through the pantry for a paper lunch bag. “Just the cookies!”

“Half the cookies!” she yells back.

“They’re _my_ cookies!” he rejoins, laughing. “I made them!”

“In _my_ kitchen, using _my_ ingredients, buster.”

“...half the cookies,” he agrees.

“Good boy.”

He comes back out with a paper sack in hand and a hug for her, which surprises her in its unpromptedness. And a forehead kiss too! She should kick him out more often, she decides.

“Thanks for everything, Aunt May!”

“Go get ’em, tiger.” There’s one last wave at the door, then as soon as it’s closed, she slumps back in her seat. She sighs. Asks herself if it’s too early in the afternoon to knock back a glass or two of rum and coke with that butterscotch pie.

On the screen, teenage Dorothy tells her mother Sophia in a flashback that she just lost her virginity to Stan. May’s eyes boggle a bit and she shakes her head back and forth.

“Nope, I do _not_ want to think about that right now,” she says alone in her apartment and skips ahead to the next episode. While the theme song is still going, she gets up and decides it’s not too early for that rum after all.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean _technically_ Wade is back...in town. Just not in the chapter itself. *dodges more tomatoes* Hey, it's not my fault ok! I was just trying to think of what Peter would actually be _doing_ while waiting for Wade to return and out of nowhere Aunt May just started waving really furiously to get my attention like, "Um, helloooo? Perpetually loving and worried aunt over here wondering when she's gonna get to spend some time with her nephew too ok?? thanks!!" This whole chapter was unplanned and is entirely her doing, I swear.
> 
> ~~Is it weird that May said one of MJ's iconic lines? I mean, it's a really great line, and Peter and MJ are never gonna be a thing in this universe anyway so...~~


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Peter discovers he has a kink for Wade's voice (but we already knew that), Wade discovers he has a kink for Peter's conscience (um, little weirder, but we kind of knew that too), and Tony is a total mood killer just by showing up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Overcoming a long bout of writer's block to finally get this chapter out there. Apparently I _suck_ at writing strictly from Wade's point of view and shifted to Peter's a couple of times throughout on accident. Thankfully it should be easy enough to catch the transitions and not get _too_ confused (if it says 'Peter' somewhere in the narrative instead of 'Spidey' or one of Wade's thousands of nicknames for him, chances are high that paragraph is from Peter's POV). A handy little tell in my writing, at least for as long as Wade doesn't know his secret identity yet. :P
> 
> This story is also growing once more by at least another chapter, possibly two, as I felt this chapter was already getting a little too long and I'm impatient to give y'all something, dangit. Hopefully it won't take me another four months to put out the next one. _*nervous laughter ensues*_ I make no promises, but I will try. I've at least already _started_ the next chapter technically, which is practically like overachieving from this executive dysfunctional scrub. xD

Barely twenty minutes have passed since Wade got back to his apartment and texted Spidey, and already there is a light, familiar tapping against his living room window. “Geez, give a guy a chance to settle in,” he playfully grumbles to himself, not in the least bit actually bothered by the promptness of his welcome wagon. He can’t even remember the last time he’s had his own welcome wagon, at least not one of the pleasant variety.

_“Wade!”_ he hears maybe a millisecond before his entire torso is bound by spindly arms _and_ legs in a hug that’s really more the equivalent of a very adorable, excitable, _heavy_ cat climbing a tree, and okay, danger of dropping to the ground and spraining his ass aside, he’s pretty sure he’s _never_ heard his name said with such giddy joy, or been held so tightly by someone this eager to have him back and unashamed about it, not even during his few serious relationships with past boyfriends and girlfriends.

_‘Whoa, bit presumptuous of you there, big guy,’_ Italics cautions.

**‘Can it, Itsy, our bae can’t keep his hands off us, I’m trying to savor the moment here!’** Bold fires back.

_‘What the HELL did you just call me? Let’s see how you like it if I start calling you Bitsy!’_

“Aww, that’d be cute! But kinda confusing since that’s what Spidey calls it when he can tell we’re trying to be sneaky about copping a feel.” Spider-Man snorts at the non-sequitur remark, as usual not in the least perturbed by Wade’s tendency to respond to his voices aloud.

“Wade,” he says, lowering his feet to the floor and releasing him from his hug. Wade tries not to whine at the loss, even if it means he can feel his arms again and stand without swaying precariously. “You have never once, in all the time that I’ve known you, actually tried to touch me inappropriately without my permission,” the spandex-clad hero reminds him.

“Not that you know of!” Deadpool rejoins. It gets fuzzy between canons, but he’s fairly sure there are other universes in which he totally _did not_ stop himself at the last minute from latching his grabby hands firmly onto that glorious booty like he usually does. He tries so hard to be good though, and it’s nice to know his valiant efforts do not go unnoticed.

**‘Way to really come out swinging with the creepy shit only thirty seconds in, by the way,’** Bold says in reference to his remark. At least Spider-Man’s own response is only a single, unimpressed eyebrow raise through the mask.

“For the record, there’s a lot I’d let you get away with as long as you don’t push too far,” he says with a playful hip bump as he passes Wade on the way to the couch and makes himself at home, a careful nonchalance to his voice and movements that is almost certainly entirely for show. “I mean, it’s only fair since I, uh, kinda hug you like that all the time, a lot, without even really asking,” he adds, a bit more shy and embarrassed, and closer to his usual demeanor.

Wade stands in place feeling uncharacteristically tongue-tied. Italics and Bold have no such problem.

**‘Holy shit holy shit HOLY SHIT did strawberry shortcake just say what I think he just said??’**

_‘How are you just standing there? He gave us a blank check! Go grab that booty before he figures that out and takes it back!’_

**‘Yes! Do it! Go cop a feel! GO COP ALL THE FEELS!’**

_‘Damn, he must really have missed us if he’s being this obvious.’_

This last thoughtful observation is exactly why Wade stands motionless and swallows reflexively, oddly choked up with emotion in spite of the obviously flirty vibe. Spider-Man…Spider-Man doesn’t let _anyone_ touch him casually, he’d told Wade as much once after the man asked whose hugs were better, his or Captain America’s. Before then, Wade had assumed he was just naturally inclined to be cuddly and affectionate with everyone. It had gobsmacked him, looking back on how close they’d been since practically Day One and realizing that _wasn’t normal_ for the cheerful superhero. It still affects him now when he’s faced with reminders like this.

So yeah, Deadpool would really have to be negligently unobservant not to realize by now that _both_ of them have definitely been feeling this thing that’s been building between them for the past several months. The only thing that’s kept him from acting on it all this time is the ever-present fear that the moment he actually _goes for it,_ he’s going to royally screw up what’s already at this point the best relationship he’s ever had.

**‘Ugh, cut it with the melodramatic shit already! This isn’t some goddamn Victorian novel. Have you considered how much you’re going to fuck this all up if you keep waffling and Spidey thinks you’ve just been jerking his chain this whole time, and not in the fun way?’**

_‘Bitsy has a point there.’_

**‘Oh. So we’re really doing that now, huh.’**

_‘Meh. Just testing the waters. Not sure if it’ll really stick, knowing us.’_

**‘We do have roughly the attention span of a hyperactive goldfish.’**

Cautiously, Deadpool lets himself sink down on the sofa next to Spidey, and with an exaggerated fake yawn, puts his arm around the shorter man’s shoulders and lets his hand rest dangerously close to where Spidey’s right nipple is under the costume. Spider-Man snorts softly at his antics but relaxes against him almost immediately, and Wade has to concede that his boxes might actually have been onto something. He can feel the nervous tension bleeding out of the other man’s body as he realizes he hasn’t been left hanging after his practically gift-wrapped invitation.

**‘Oh my godddddd, is that it?! Since when have you been a fan of slow burn?’**

_‘I’ve seen glaciers move faster than this, and that was before we knew global warming was a thing.’_

**‘You’re killing me, Smalls!’**

Wade ignores the boxes this time, distracted by the crinkle of paper close to Spidey’s lap. He looks down and notices the bag squished in his hand for the first time. “What’s that?”

“Oh!” Spider-Man holds the bag out to him, clearly having forgotten about it up until now himself. “Cookies. Hope you like chocolate chocolate chip.”

“What kind of monster doesn’t like chocolate inside of more chocolate?” Deadpool squeals delightedly, immediately rolling his mask up to cram two of them into his mouth at the same time.

_‘Dammit, he didn’t even at least try to say it like a double entendre.’_

**‘A goldfish, I tell you! A goldfish,’** Bold bemoans.

“Oh my god,” Wade moans around his mouthful. “Are you sure these aren’t crack cookies?”

Spider-Man snickers and takes one for himself. “Pretty sure, unless my aunt’s picked up the habit and been hiding it in the sugar bowl.”

“You never know with sweet little old ladies these days.”

“She’s not that old. Actually, it’s kind of disconcerting how often she gets hit on every time we go out somewhere. Also, it’s her fault there aren’t more of these.” Peter’s smile widens at the older man’s scandalized gasp. “She’s kinda greedy when it comes to sweets. I used to have to hide my Snickers and Hershey’s Cookies & Cream bars from her when we went trick or treating,” he remembers fondly. Wade says something indecipherable around a mouthful of yet more cookies.

Between the two of them, the bag gets demolished quickly. Then, Wade drags Spidey up from the couch by the hand and announces that he’s taking him out to dinner. He’s the one who’s supposed to be keeping Spidey fed all the time, after all, not the other way around.

“This isn’t the usual food truck,” Peter notes when Wade pulls him into a place around the corner that turns out to be a very nice, intimately lit Mexican restaurant. Around the bar, several people are cheering loudly at a game on the hanging television set, though at this angle it’s difficult for him to see the screen well enough to tell which sport.

“Shit no! This is a special occasion, baby boy. The triumphant return of yours truly!” Wade steers them in the direction of his own reserved table near the back—the owner keeps it clear just for him as a thank you for a job he did for her a couple years back.

“Señor Deadpool,” she greets, bringing chips and salsa out to their table herself. “It’s been too long. And is this really who I think it is?” she asks. Spidey waves shyly in response.

“I told you I’d be bringing a real A-list hero with me next time I dropped in, didn’t I, Rosalind?”

“I see two A-list heroes in my restaurant,” she points out before Peter can voice his own rebuke at Wade’s word choice. Peter decides he likes her immediately. “I’m afraid I’ll be spending more time in the back office than the kitchen myself this evening, but what can I get you to start with?”

Wade whines a little at the lost opportunity to enjoy the best taquitos in the state, before ordering two margaritas and a pitcher of beer.

“Keeping it light tonight,” she teases. “And you?” she asks, turning to the other costumed hero.

“The same,” Peter says, pitching his voice to a confident, grown-up tone and trying not to squirm when she looks at him suspiciously anyway and asks if he’s sure.

“Rosalind!” Deadpool squawks with feigned indignance. “Are you daring to suggest that _the_ Spider-Man, beloved friendly neighborhood superhero and New York’s favorite arachnid enthusiast, is not old enough to legally partake?”

“I was actually suggesting that he might not have your ridiculously high tolerance for alcohol,” she says, narrowing her eyes at Deadpool now. _“Should_ I be concerned about that instead?” 

“Who’s gonna card him either way to know?” Deadpool asks cheekily. When that doesn’t persuade her, he straightens and holds his hand up solemnly. “He’s old enough, I swear! Scout’s honor.” Rosalind seems to reluctantly accept that and makes her way over to the bar.

“You’re Canadian,” Peter blurts as soon as she’s far enough not to overhear. “You were never a Boy Scout.”

“And you’re not really old enough to drink,” Wade readily rejoins. “In this country anyway. Also, _excuse you,_ we have Scouts too! Typical American hubris, assuming yours are the only ones.”

Spidey snickers at that. “Guess I should be glad no one’s going to insist on carding Spider-Man,” the younger hero grins, mask already rolled up so he can start digging into those chips.

Deadpool wolf-whistles. “Look at you, little lawbreaker. Been spending too much time with your ol’ pal Deadpool. Clearly I’m a bad influence on you.”

Spider-Man’s smile drops away in an instant. “No,” he says firmly, tone clipped, and finishes off the next tortilla chip almost aggressively. “You’re not.”

_‘Oh-kaaaay, that was a little weird.’_

**‘Is he…mad at us?’**

“I don’t think so,” Wade mutters under his breath. Probably not mad at Wade, at any rate. He tilts his head quizzically at the younger man, about to ask, when another server comes out with their drinks. Spidey seems _way_ too enthusiastic about ordering their food immediately afterward, almost as if he’s trying to distract Wade with thoughts of their promised future of delicious fajitas and chimichangas to come.

Wade lets it go for now and their conversation continues to flow afterwards to the tune of their usual banter, but he keeps his ears perked for signs of that darker attitude returning in Spidey’s voice, just in case.

“Man, it’s kinda weird being in full gear in the middle of a restaurant instead of on a rooftop or out punching bad guys,” Spidey says around a mouthful of beer and guacamole, which is kind of gross but in a weirdly adorable way. He’s also just a _teensy_ bit gigglier and more flushed than usual when he chugs his margaritas fast enough, though like Wade, his enhanced metabolism doesn’t allow the effects to last for long. Wade gives a silent, mournful toast to the youth’s lost opportunity to spend his college years getting well and truly drunk. At least his own healing factor didn’t get a chance to kick in until later in life.

“It’s nice though, isn’t it?” Wade asks. “You deserve a break once in a while, baby boy. Let the Avengers pick up the slack some nights and have to pay attention to their own city for once.”

And there it is—the chilliness Wade had almost forgotten about from before returns at the mention of Earth’s mightiest heroes. “When has the Avengers actually paying attention to what’s happening around them ever meant anything good?” the younger man asks waspishly.

_‘There’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one.’_

**‘More than the usual case of the bitter grumpies about the not-so-awesome-A-team making those lips go all pouty,’** Bold agrees.

“Did something happen between you and them while I was gone?” Wade broaches the subject carefully.

Spider-Man hesitates, clearly not comfortable with the topic in question, but decides to go for honesty anyway. “Yeah. They found out about us teaming up. I mean, I wasn’t keeping it a secret or anything, but apparently they didn’t know before. And…now they do,” he trails off quietly.

Wade sucks in a breath between his teeth in pained sympathy. “That didn’t go over so well,” he says, making it a statement rather than a question.

 “You could say that.” Spidey bites his lip in a way that makes Wade think of a distressed puppy, in that he simultaneously wants to coo at him and wrap him up tight in a blanket and shoot whoever put such a heartbreaking expression there.

Okay, so maybe Wade Wilson has an extreme reaction to the sight of distressed puppies.

“How bad?” he asks, and if his voice takes on the same dark, dangerous edge it had when he and Spidey first met in that alley months ago, or if Spidey shivers automatically in response to it, he’s too focused on hearing the answer to make note of it.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m over it,” Peter lies. “Really, don’t worry. I don’t even care anymore.”

“How bad?” Wade repeats, keeping his tone uncharacteristically even.

The younger man crosses his arms defensively and looks down at the table between them. “Look, it’s not a big deal, okay? _Fucking Tony Stark,”_ he grumbles, unable to keep the bite out of his tone as he says the name despite his reassurances to Wade, “doesn’t think you’re trustworthy and that pisses me off, but it’s nothing new either.”

“Nothing new,” Wade agrees, waiting for the rest because warming as it is to know Spidey gets all huffy on his behalf and what little good reputation he has, he’s sure that’s not all.

“So, apparently he doesn’t want me around the Tower or doing missions with them anymore as long as I’m hanging out with you,” Spidey shrugs, as if this statement is as inconsequential as saying, _“Oh look, it’s raining outside.”_

The other man remains silent and still for so long that Peter starts to get really worried. It’s not at all like him and quickly becomes too much for Peter to bear, prompting him to say the man’s name quietly in spite of the public setting.

“Give me your phone,” Wade speaks up at last. It’s so unexpected that Peter’s brain forgets to process the words, and for a few long seconds it just rattles “phone” back at him on repeat without recognition. He has to mouth it silently to himself at first, then once again out loud before its meaning comes back to him.

“Phone? Why my phone? What?” he asks flatly, his confusion not abating despite clarification of the word’s meaning after multiple echolalic repeats, _fuck._ Did he miss something obvious, or does Wade’s request just genuinely not make any goddamn sense?

“Just give it here, babe,” Wade says, holding his hand out over one of the half-empty beer pitchers. For some reason, Peter’s brain jumps to the weird assumption that he intends to drop it inside on purpose, yet he easily and unquestioningly hands it over this time anyway. Apparently, Wade Wilson’s voice at the right pitch and volume has _powers_ over Peter Parker’s brain which extend beyond the by-now familiar _“oooh, sparkly tingly, mmmmmm”_ feeling into _“must obey and be a good boy”_ territory.

He could make a joke about the Avengers not being too far off the mark in their concerns about Wade’s sway over him after all, albeit not in the way they might have thought, except that he recognizes this as a thing which definitely falls under the category of Things He Should Never Ever Tell Anyone About Ever. Superhero weaknesses needing to be kept secret and all.

Well. Except that he might end up telling Wade. Will almost certainly end up telling Wade. Because of…reasons. Which he does not need to be thinking about right now. Right.

Wade does _not_ drop his phone into the beer pitcher, and instead after a moment of scrolling through Peter’s short list of contacts, picks one and holds the phone up to his ear. Something closely akin to panic seizes in the younger man’s chest once he realizes what’s happening.

_“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”_ he leans forward to whisper furiously, which is in itself also something of a tell, the fact that he not only doesn’t wrest the device back from the man’s grasp despite knowing he’s the stronger of the two, but even lowers his voice because it’s what he’s supposed to do when _someone’s_ _on the phone._ Jesus, he really does have it bad.

The phone rings barely once before Stark picks up on the other end. _“Did something happen? Are you alright?”_ he hears the tinny voice ask urgently through the speaker. A beat. _“Or did you finally come to your senses?”_

_“Tch,”_ Peter scoffs, dropping back into a slouch against the back of his seat.

“Spidey says ‘tch,’ which I’m pretty sure means no,” Deadpool answers cheerfully, but it’s the kind of cheer Peter knows to be patently false, the one which generally prompts him to remind Wade of their no killing rule when it comes out. He fortunately doesn’t hear it often.

_“Deadpool,”_ Stark replies, and Peter is surprised by how well even he can hear the sneer behind it. _“Dare I ask what you’re doing on this line?”_

“Well, I was of half a mind to just teleport right up to your precious Tower, but decided I wasn’t in the mood to go picking up any limbs your crazy AI security might have lasered off by the time I reached the top.”

_“Oh, so you do learn.”_

“We need to talk, Stark,” Wade says, tone more serious than Tony’s likely ever heard it, judging by the intrigued silence on the other end. “I assume you’re not going to let up on those security protocols for me, so let’s arrange to meet up somewhere.”

_“No need, I’ve already traced your coordinates. ETA ten minutes.”_ With that, Stark hangs up. Wade looks down at the phone in his hand and mutters _“ass”_ before handing it back to Peter.

Peter lobs a salsa-laden chip at Wade in retaliation for the blindsided meeting. “What’d you have to do that for, huh?” he asks, more irritated than angry if only because he’s at least already pleasantly full on fajita chicken and strawberry margaritas and won’t be facing the last person he wants to see on an empty stomach.

“Baby boy, you and the Avengers can’t do your jobs right if you’re not cooperating anymore,” Wade sighs. “This needs to get sorted before it turns into an actual problem.”

“That’s not your call to make, DP.” It pains Wade to be called that instead of his name at the moment, even if he knows it’s for practical purposes because Spidey prefers to avoid using his real name in public when he can and not because he’s mad at him.

“Maybe not, but it is my fault.”

“It is _not_ that either!” Spidey fires back, and throws another chip at him for good measure.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, shortcake, but Captain Starkers wouldn’t be freaking out this much if I was, oh let’s say, _literally_ anyone else,” Deadpool boasts without much humor. “The whole ‘schizophrenic who kills people for money’ thing tends to not sit well with most hero types.”

**‘Present company notwithstanding. Somehow.’**

“You’re right, this whole thing reeks of ableist bullshit. It usually is.”

_‘Annnnd, you really can’t pretend you’re surprised that’s the only takeaway he got from that statement, considering who you’re talking to.’_

**‘Also, I’m not totes positive that Lord Stark’s all that neurotypical himself. Just sayin.’**

“That’s beside the point, you don’t _have_ to be NT or able-bodied to be a little ableist sometimes. Honestly, Bitsy,” Deadpool scoffs. “But, uh, actually the ‘kills people’ bit is what I was really talking about,” he clarifies to Spider-Man.

“The man has _laser cannons_ attached to the hands of his suit. He has no business judging you for your methods. None of them do!” Spider-Man declares, straightening. “They might not like to admit it to themselves, but they’ve all killed plenty of times before, and they still do.”

“You don’t though,” Wade points out. Spider-Man shifts a little guiltily, and Wade knows he’s thinking of those rare few occasions he can count on one hand, when he’s miscalculated in a way that _did_ cost someone’s life, or when he had absolutely no other choice. They’ve talked about it a little, tentatively, and he knows that each and every one of those deaths weighs heavily on the younger man, part of the fuel which drives him to always be better so it doesn’t happen again…which is sort of Wade’s point.

“That’s my choice,” Spidey says softly. “I have my own standard of ethics I hold myself to. So do you.”

Wade chuckles darkly. “You know, most people would disagree with you on that.”

“Most people don’t actually bother getting to know you,” Spider-Man retorts. There’s something oddly calculating about the way he then asks, “How do you know the owner here?”

“Ros?” Wade asks blankly. “I told you, just a job I was on a little ways back,” he says, handwaving. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“Tell me the short version. We still have a bit of time before Stark crashes the party.” Not that it feels like much of a “party” anymore, but still.

_“Wellll,”_ Wade drawls out a bit, stalling in a way Peter has come to recognize means he feels guilty or embarrassed about something. “Okay, short version is this skeevy dude wanted me to take out his wife, right? Make it look like a kitchen accident in her own restaurant, burning the whole place down in the process. Guy was looking to collect on the insurance for both.”

Understanding dawns immediately, but Spidey prompts him to continue anyway. “So what happened?”

Deadpool scoffs. _“What_ _happened_ is I surveilled the target beforehand for awhile, like I always do. Ros ain’t got a bad bone in her body, just terrible judgment in character considering who she exchanged her vows with. Plus, she really is a dynamo with a frying pan, I was _not_ exaggerating when I said you were missing out on some _phenomenal_ taquitos tonight, baby boy.” Wade clears his throat. “Anyway, after I found out I may have, um, decided to introduce hubby’s head to the inside of a bubbling deep fryer instead,” he mumbles with a cough and looks away.

Spidey, quite understandably, does make a face at the colorful yet gruesome imagery that conjures, but then he seems oddly pleased by the end of the tale. Wade has to pinch himself under the table to make sure he’s not imagining it.

**‘Ow! That hurts, you fucker!’**

“What’s with that face, baby boy? What are you thinking about now?”

“You,” Spidey says simply. “Proving my point as always.” At Wade’s puzzled head tilt, he clarifies, “There’s a line you won’t cross. It may not be in the same place as mine, but it is there.”

It’s not that he _wants_ to burst Spidey’s bubble, especially when that bubble is sweet, unconditional respect and admiration for Wade as a person which he feels is mostly undeserved, but… “You realize that’s something that could be said about any number of the villains in your rogue’s gallery too,” Wade mumbles quietly.

Spidey frowns. “It’s really not. Especially depending on just who you’re referring to,” he says, and it’s clear in the conviction in his tone for anyone who cares to listen that Spidey has _seen some shit._ “Trust me, you’re not the same as them. And even the ones you’re sort of right about…they’re the ones I have the most hope will turn things around someday. So…not _such_ bad company to have something in common with,” he shrugs, smiling, _and god,_ he honestly means that. This is exactly what all the other superheroing types mean when they talk about Spider-Man in fondly exasperated tones as something _too good, too pure for this world._

For this lifestyle, more like, because it’s also exactly why so many of them underestimate him and treat him like some naïve kid. But it’s not naiveté, despite his age making it easy to assume as much, and that’s never been clearer to Wade than it is now. It’s a choice too. So much of what Spidey says and does is actually, when he’s not simply popping off his mouth or shooting the breeze with Wade—careful, conscientious, _controlled._ At first glance, Spider-Man and Deadpool are absolutely nothing alike. Except…

Except that it’s a very specific type of person who chooses to walk a tightrope like that. And that type of person is almost never one for whom that level of self-control is either comfortable or natural.

_‘And Starkers is worried about US being a weird influence on HIM,’_ Italics huffs.

**‘Are we saying he’s what we could be if we, y’know, actually tried not unaliving people for a living?’**

_‘Okay, let’s not get carried away here.’_

**‘Damn, baby boy makes even that whole Great Responsibility shtick seem sexy though. How does he DO that? We should be taking notes. For science.’**

_‘I think the real wonder here is how you can take literally anything and justify a reason to fap to it.’_

**‘It is indeed a gift.’**

“That’s one word for it,” Wade mutters. Spidey makes an inquisitive noise that has him clearing his throat and scrambling for a change of topic _quick,_ because there is no way he’s telling the younger man that he’s at risk of popping a boner in public just from thinking about what a goodie two-shoes nerd he is.

_‘Jesus. Of course that’s one of our kinks now. Why the fuck am I not surprised?’_

He is, fortunately, saved from having to come up with anything by a small commotion inside the restaurant as everyone looks out the front windows at the multibillion dollar Iron suit that has just landed at the entrance, the sound it makes comparable to a jet engine if a bit quieter and less pain inducing.

“Of course he showed up in a suit. Always gotta be so goddamn _Extra_. _”_

_‘He did say it would be ten minutes. How did you think he was gonna manage that? In New York City? On a Friday night??’_

The suit then opens and out steps Stark, dressed down in a fancy suit jacket and jeans that probably each cost more than Wade’s last car (just don’t ask what happened to it). He even slides on matching shades to complete the look before he steps inside.

“I hear, he has a different pair of sunglasses to go with _every_ pair of cufflinks _and_ shoes,” Wade says in a terrible _Sweet Valley High_ meets _Mean Girls_ impression to make Spidey laugh, but his efforts are met with silence. _Nada._ Crickets.

Instead, Spider-Man takes one last sip of his current margarita with a note of finality and rolls his mask back down, sparking Wade to do the same—albeit both of them hiding themselves for different reasons. Spidey’s posture is stiff and straight, which makes Wade feel guilty all over again, but this has to be done.

**‘Did we ask ourselves or him if he actually plans on cooperating though?’**

Well, shit. Wade had not actually thought that far ahead, his plans mainly revolving around giving Stark a piece of his mind before leading into ways they could compromise, for the sake of the city if not for their alliance. The vibes Spidey is giving off get chillier and more hostile with every step closer the man gets, however, making Wade realize _fast_ that either things are about to get a whole lot more interesting than he was anticipating, or that Wade’s about to have to do all the “heavy lifting” so to speak in this conversation to get it to go anywhere.

_‘As if us as the mediator wasn’t bad enough, now we’re gonna be doing most of the talking?’_

**‘Right, because that always goes well!’**

_‘At least it’s more or less par for the course. We generally can’t keep our mouth shut.’_

**‘Because THAT always goes well!’**

_‘You’re not usually the sarcastic one.’_

**‘Excuse you, I am a fully fleshed out character—’**

_‘HA!’_

**‘—and am therefore entitled to make any tonal or emotional decisions I like as the plot requires it.’**

Ah, yes. This is going to go _so well._  Swell. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a straight shot through dinner, confrontation with Tony, then Peter and Wade _finally_ getting somewhere a little more concrete in their relationship. Blame them for derailing me, it's what I do. It's always the characters' faults, never the writer's. xD ~~I thought hannigram was the ship where I could never get them to shut up long enough to start kissing, come on, boys, you're killing me!~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun headcanon: There's a popular meme in this 'verse where people photoshop Tony Stark into those Most Interesting Man in the World ads for Dos Equis beer. Tony loves it, of course, and naturally agrees when the company asks if he'd be willing to star in their next commercial with the original Most Interesting Man himself. (The proceeds from his check go entirely to charity since he obviously doesn't need it.) It's one of the most viral videos on YouTube for awhile.

**‘Is shortcake giving us and Ol’ Starky the silent treatment, or is he, y’know…?’** Bold trails off in order to gesture meaningfully.

_‘Wait, are you seriously MIMING right now like anybody can see that, you waste of a disembodied internal dialogue framing device??’_

Spider-Man is indeed being unusually quiet, has been since shortly before Stark got to their table. Wade certainly hopes he hasn’t lost use of his voice from the stress and irritation. He feels bad enough for inviting the billionaire playboy _dickweed_ here and killing the mood in the first place.

“Well, this isn’t awkward in the slightest,” Stark deadpans, still standing as there isn’t another chair for him to sit down. Privately, Wade has to agree with the sarcastic assessment. This is the pits.

The commotion earlier at Stark’s arrival has caused enough of a stir that even Ros pokes her head out of the back room again to see what’s going on. Wade is glad their table is at least far enough from the others that he doesn’t have to worry about anyone overhearing them before they inevitably get tired of “covertly” snapping pictures and return to their own meals.

Ros is flustered by the unexpected appearance of yet another superhero in her establishment, but she takes it well enough in stride. “Er, can I get you anything, Mister Stark?”

“He’s not staying,” Spider-Man tells her firmly. Deadpool squees internally at the confirmation that he is still capable of verbalizing, but Rosalind appears a bit taken aback. Everyone more or less has an idea of what Spidey’s normally chatty persona is like from eyewitness accounts and anecdotes, so it’s no surprise that the ice in his clipped, sparing words now would throw her off.

“Well, long enough for at least a beer, I should think,” Tony challenges. “How about a Dos Equis, miss, por favor?” he adds with a charming smile.

“O-of course,” Ros agrees, and leaves to tell the bartender, giving everyone at their table another quick, assessing look as she goes.

“Excuse me, mind if I borrow this?” Tony says, having wandered over to a nearby table to grab an extra chair. He stops to chat with the excited fans seated there for a minute and poses for selfies with them.

“Ugh, no one asked _us_ for selfies when we came in. What gives?” Wade asks, trying to draw Spidey back into conversation with their usual camaraderie. Spidey doesn’t answer.

“Are you mad at me, baby boy?”

“No.” Right, Wade doesn’t buy _that_ for a second, not in that tone. _“I’m not,”_ he insists when Wade continues to stare at him.

“You know you don’t have to lie to stroke my self-esteem, Webs. I can take it. I know I deserve it for inviting him here without asking you first.”

Spidey actually _growls_ , though because it’s _Spidey_ it comes out sounding a lot more adorable than intimidating. Not that Wade would ever tell him that, of course. “I’m not happy about that, but if I was mad at you, I would _tell you,”_ he says, sounding mad as hell. He must realize this because he makes another noise of frustration. “I am mad in general, yes, and when I’m mad I have a tendency to take it out on whoever’s around if I don’t keep my mouth shut, so please just _stop talking to me!”_ he snaps. There’s a note of pleading there, enough for Wade to be able to take him at his word now even if he still cringes at the rest and the boxes are insisting that Webs is lying and everything is all Wade’s fault.

Silently, he grumbles at them both to shut up and let him focus. If Webs is genuinely not going to be capable of sounding anything other than confrontational when he speaks, then this is going to get ugly fast if Wade doesn’t take the lead here, especially as the source of his ire finally saunters his way back to them with a chair in tow.

Their server comes back with a beer for him and fresh refills for Spidey and Wade, and Stark thanks him with a nod. Spides takes a couple of deeper breaths than normal, probably with his eyes closed if Wade had to guess, making an effort at least to be calmer now that the moment of truth is here. Now, if Iron Man could just refrain from running his mouth about anything inane that might still set the younger man off…

Tony points with his own bottle at the freshly refilled pint glass in front of Spidey. “You even old enough to be touching that stuff yet, underoos?”

**‘No, yeah, let’s antagonize him about the age thing which is definitely not at all a thing he’s touchy about because it’s literally the only thing anyone in the superheroing community ever really likes to harp on about, except—oh wait!’**

_‘And people say we have no brain-to-mouth filter.’_

Sure enough, Spidey breathes in sharply through his nose and clenches his fists on the tabletop in front of him, but it’s not the heated, frustrated tone from earlier that spills out when he opens his mouth. Instead, his voice is cold and cutting as he says without even looking at the man to his right, _“You_ want to lecture me on the foibles of drinking?”

Now, needling Iron Man on his on again, off again love-hate relationship with liquor ranks in the category of “easier than shooting fish in a whiskey barrel,” and would generally barely even register more than a passing acknowledgment at best from the man who’s heard it all before.

So imagine Wade’s surprise when Tony looks at the kid and something in his expression… _wavers._

It’s gone in a second before he raises his bottle in a mock toast and says, “Touché,” taking a long pull from his drink and setting it back on the table. But it’s already too late to hide it. Wade _saw._

Suddenly it all makes sense. Wade could kick himself for not seeing it sooner.

**‘Baby boy got another superpower he don’t even know about,’** Bold cackles delightedly.

_‘Ding dong, the wicked witch’s ickle ~feewings~ have been hurt!’_

His voices can really be assholes sometimes.

_‘Oh, don’t tell me you’re actually feeling sorry for this bastard now.’_

Wade ignores that and asks what he should have before ever making that call, “Baby boy, you up for doing this right now?”

Spidey looks up at him, shoulders loosening, the blank expression on his mask making it hard to read him while also giving the impression of someone who seems a little lost. “I get a choice?” he asks, the soft, genuine surprise in his voice doing things to Wade that he _really_ doesn’t need right now. It makes him feel guilty for putting him in this situation in the first place while also giving him _ideas_ for far better situations he’d love to hear it again sometime.

“Always,” he answers sincerely, and wonders what exactly he did to give Spidey the impression any other answer was even possible.

**‘Maybe baby boy’s not the only one who has a superpower he didn’t know about,’** says Bold in dawning wonder.

_‘Let’s definitely come back to this later when we don’t have a third wheel around to make it awkward,’_ Italics suggests.

“Then…no,” Webs answers him honestly. “I’m really not.”

“Okay.” He expected that answer, and honestly it makes this easier now that he knows how to handle the Stark Problem. “Is it alright if I talk to Tony alone for a minute then?”

Both men seem surprised by the request, but after a moment Spidey nods and stands to make his way over to the bar. Tony opens his mouth to say something but immediately closes it again, instead watching him go with a look of concern he doesn’t try to disguise.

“Okay, now what was that?” he asks Deadpool as soon as Spider-Man is safely on the other side of the restaurant.

_“Pardon?”_ Wade asks, pronouncing it the French way.

_‘Classy. That’s sure to impress the future father-in-law.’_

“Just now. The way you two just…” Tony stops himself mid-sentence, gears visibly whirring as he decides to switch tacks and straightens in his seat. “Alright, Wilson, since it’s just you and me now that means I finally get to ask,” here, he leans forward slightly, hands clasped lightly on the tabletop. Wade suddenly feels like he’s being interviewed in a boardroom. “What exactly are your intentions with Spider-Man?”

Wade bursts into giggles uncontrollably. He can’t help it. This is…this is _textbook!_

**‘Dude, we totally called it!’**

_‘All that’s missing is the shotgun in his lap and the threat of what happens if we don’t have Spidey home by curfew.’_

“Well, I think I’d like an autumn wedding,” he replies breezily. “When you start to feel that nip in the air and the leaves are just starting to turn. Hey, what do you think of mint green and strawberry pink as the theme colors?”

**‘Atrocious.’**

_‘No one asked you.’_

**‘Also, wasn’t our ice cream blue? How EVEN, by the way? I’m pretty sure the flavors we picked were pistachio and peanut butter and some other shit that was definitely NOT blue.’**

_‘We’ll call it a writer’s gaff.’_

**‘Double atrocious! Dishonor on you and your cow!’**

Stark just levels a deeply unimpressed look at the merc that says he doesn’t believe him. Which is just as well since they’re here to talk about Stark’s relationship to Spidey, not Wade’s, and he tells the man as much.

“How so?” the other man asks.

Deadpool leans in and steeples his hands in mimicry of Stark’s earlier pose. “You are fucking this up, Pops.”

“Is that right,” Stark says without inflection. Apparently that even warrants strategic removal of the shades so he can stare Deadpool in the face directly. An obvious indicator that Wade is walking a fine line as far as he’s concerned, which also means that he’s on the right track.

“Listen, I know you think you’re just looking out for him, _I get it,_ but you gotta realize that telling him he has to do what you say or he doesn’t get to play with the big kids and their shiny toys anymore is never going to win you any Cool Dad points.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t take parenting advice from someone who generally smells like he took a dip in an entire vat of stale beer and rancid fast-food grease,” the other man quips back. He’s not denying the whole “surrogate dad” complex though, so he does get points for having a modicum of self-awareness at least.

“No, I mean _really,_ you are dropping into the negatives with this latest stunt, dude. Full disclosure, before you got here we were straight up talking about _villains_ and there was more chipperness to Spidey’s voice than when you came up in conversation. It was like _‘baddies,’”_ Wade says, deliberately raising his voice higher on the last word. _“‘Tony Stark,’”_ he continues, dropping in octave with a general air of gruff yet adorable meanness. _“Baddies!”_ he squeals again joyously. _“Tony Stark,”_ he growls coldly once more.

_‘You are really, really terrible at the strawberry shortcake impressions.’_

**‘Nuh uh, that is exactly what he sounds like!’**

_‘Definitely not. He would punch us for making it if he were over here right now, and we would deserve it.’_

**‘Then explain why Tin Can’s jaw is twitching like that.’** Huh, so it is.

“Alright, we’re done here,” Stark says, sliding back on his shades and making to rise from his chair. “I don’t know why I thought this time you might actually have something to say worth hearing, but I don’t have to listen to this.”

“See, your problem is you think this is about me,” Wade says. He wishes there were a cup of tea in front of him so he could take a sip from it like a boss ass bitch, spilling truth bombs left and right today, and he doesn’t even _like_ tea.

Tony actually halts in mid-stance, halfway between still sitting and standing, his fingertips resting lightly against the worn table, and looks at Deadpool then like he’s almost a little impressed. He drops back into his seat. “Okay, as far as baited hooks go, that one was pretty good. Great execution. You got me. I’m hooked. Now reel me in, Wilson. What is it _really_ about?” Stark asks, humoring him.

“Spider-Man thinks you don’t trust him anymore.” The smug little smirk falls away from the other man’s face. “Might even be questioning right now if you ever did.”

“He said that?” Tony asks. Wade blinks, a little disconcerted. This is the first time since they started talking that he honestly sounds like he’s taking Wade seriously. First time ever, actually.

“He didn’t have to,” Wade answers after a beat. “It’s obvious from what he’s _not_ saying. He’s trying not to show it, Stark, but whatever you said hurt him. Pretty badly.”

**‘Dude, I didn’t even know we knew that shit until you said it.’**

_‘Are we the Spidey Whisperer now?’_

“It’s not…I…” Tony Stark, fumbling for words and looking like he just got a sucker-punch to the feels of his own, would be hilarious to Wade if it wasn’t genuinely kind of upsetting to watch. “It’s not that I don’t trust him,” he says, recovering himself. “I don’t trust _you.”_

“Not trusting Spidey’s judgment is not trusting him,” Wade fires back. “You don’t have to like me, Tin Can. I don’t much care for you either. But you’d sure as hell better respect Spider-Man,” he says, letting it be clear by his tone that there will be consequences more than words next time if he doesn’t. This time he’s the one who stands. “I’m gonna leave you to brood on that. Think about how you’re going to fix this, Stark. I’ve got a date to get back to.”

Wonder of all wonders, Tony appears to be doing exactly that, so engrossed in thought that he doesn’t even offer a parting shot of his own as Deadpool walks away from him.

“Tab’s on him,” the merc tells their waiter in passing on his way to the bar. Then to Webs, he says, “Come on, let’s get out of here.” The other masked hero seems only too happy to comply and hops down from his stool to follow him out.

“Get hassled much by the crowd over there while you were waiting for me?” Deadpool asks with a cheerful smirk.

“Nah, I think they were too invested in the game,” Spidey remarks dryly. No one bothers them on the street either, too busy trying to get to their own destinations, and also most likely assuming them to be cosplayers anyway since Spider-Man isn’t exactly known for spending much time on the ground and taking the crosswalks like a regular person when he can just web sling and weave his way around buildings.

He seems contemplative and about to say something a couple of times, but ultimately doesn’t ask anything about what was said. Wade figures they’ve probably both had enough of talking to and about Tony Stark for one night. Maybe Stark’s not the only one who needs time to think about things either.

“So,” Spider-Man does say eventually, making a show of latching onto Wade’s arm while they walk, almost like this really is a date. The boxes gibber incomprehensibly. “An autumn wedding, huh?” he asks. Wade nearly chokes on his own spit.

“Y-you, you, uh, you heard that, eh?”

**‘Your Canadian is showing.’**

“Super hearing,” Spides reminds him, pointing at the side of his own head where his ear is hidden under the mask. “Everybody always forgets that one.”

“I didn’t forget!” Wade protests.

_‘We totally did.’_

“I just didn’t figure you’d be listening in,” Wade says, ignoring Italics.

“You guys were talking about _me._ Of course I was listening,” Spidey snorts. Well, yeah, when he puts it like that, it should have been pretty apparent that he would, but Wade hadn’t been thinking about it at the time. Must have been a headache separating their voices out from everyone else’s in the restaurant though, not to mention the TV and cheering sports fans right next to his other ear. Baby boy’s got mad skillz, _with a z_. Wade’s gonna have to remember that in case he ever wants to make super secret birthday plans for the hero or something.

“I’m not counting that as your proposal, by the way,” the younger man carries on, releasing Wade’s arm and hopping neatly to the fire escape to Wade’s building. “I’m expecting a better one from you than that. Assuming I don’t beat you to it first, that is,” he says before he starts to climb. It would almost be smooth if he wasn’t giggling so much under his breath by the end.

**‘Waitwaitwait, is that his “I’m totally kidding” giggle or his “I’m kidding but I’m not REALLY kidding” giggle? WHICH ONE IS IT?’**

_‘We haven’t kissed this boy yet, we don’t even know his name, but already we’re talking marriage. And yet, somehow, we’re not freaking out about this.’_

**‘NOT FREAKING OUT, SPEAK FOR YOURSELF, WHICH GIGGLE IS IT???’**

The boxes keep at it back and forth in this manner the entire time Wade makes his own climb to the window. It would be distracting if the subject of their hyper-focused attention wasn’t the same as his own. Baby boy’s got skills in that department too, being able to make all three of them fixate and obsess over the same thing at the same time instead of branching off in scattered directions.

“Um, hi,” Spidey says as soon as he climbs in through the window, halting in his tracks. Apparently he’s been pacing. Uh oh. “Right, so that definitely sounded totally fine in my head and not at all creepy or presumptuous or anything, ha ha,” he launches into straight away, rapid-fire and nervous as _all get out._ “But I’ve had time to think about it now— _slowpoke—_ and I’m really, really sorry if that’s how it came across. I wasn’t trying to make you uncomfortable, I swear, I’ll just—”

“I think we should date first.” The silence inside his own head is deafening. Clearly the boxes didn’t see that coming tonight. Neither did Spider-Man, judging by how abruptly quiet he’s gotten as well.

After a few awkward seconds of just staring each other down, Spider-Man makes a faint noise in his throat that Wade’s never heard before. “Wade,” he says seriously after a moment, taking a step forward. “I need to know, right now, if you’re joking or not because I can’t always tell by tone of voice or face even when I can _see_ somebody’s face, and I think I know, _maybe,_ which it is, but I still need you to tell me.”

Wade steps in even closer and takes his mask off, an act which normally doesn’t get a second thought in this man’s presence and hasn’t for months now, but feels significant this time around. “’M not joking,” he says, forcing himself not to mumble because _holy_ _shit_ is he nervous as hell too.

Spidey makes that noise again, and with zero hesitation reciprocates that gesture for the first time since they’ve met and takes his own mask off. “Good, me neither,” says the hazel-eyed beauty looking up at him. He then leans up and kisses him, shy and sweet and with just a little bit of tongue, both exactly how Wade always imagined it and a million times sweeter at once.

“Oh!” he says, pulling away before Wade even has a chance to respond properly. “My name is Peter, by the way,” he says. “Peter Parker.” Those plush lips are back on his own again before he can respond to that either.

_‘Holy shit, his name is just as cute as the rest of him,’_ Italics says, the boxes making their reappearance.

**‘His hair is the same shade of brown as how we like our coffee,’** Bold adds, sounding like he’s fucking _crying_ over the fact. **‘So now we can really say we like our men like we like our coffee! How are your hands not all up in that right now? Go on, touch it, come on, please, you know you want to…’** Wade does it just to shut him up. The box squeals happily.

He’s not the only one who likes it apparently. Baby boy— _Peter—_ makes a noise of his own and leans his head, following the tug of fingers in his hair, letting his mouth fall open wider which allows Wade to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss ends, Peter doesn’t pull away completely, instead resting his cheek against Wade’s and nuzzling there like a kitten. He even makes another little sound that could damn near be described as a short purr. Wade chuckles, voice still husky, and Peter shivers.

They should probably talk some more, establish boundaries and other important relationship maintenance stuff, that kind of thing, but Wade is feeling distinctly, uncharacteristically _not_ chatty at the moment and he suspects Peter is the same, so all that can wait until later. He’ll ask if he wants to stay the night—not in a sexy way, but for actual _sleep—_ so they can talk it out in the morning.

He wonders if Peter like chocolate chips or blueberries in his pancakes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The answer, it turns out, is both but not in the _same_ pancake. Peter prefers them one-to-one in an alternating stack, because he's gotta be difficult like that. Wade grumbles about it but does it anyway. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> To any Fannibals who might be reading this as well...yes, the thing about Peter's glasses is a reference. Thought you might like that. ;)


End file.
